At Wit's End
by Princess Bertha
Summary: Beckett and Norrington are enjoying some tea in the afterlife, but manage to find time to torment Davy Jones, Governor Swann, and Will Turner. All 3 chapters now up!
1. Chapter 1

**Pirates of the Caribbean: At Wit's End**

**Co-written by princessbertha and maska**

**Greetings all. Welcome to our sordid attempt at Pirates of the Caribbean humour. Well, it may not be that sordid. That of course depends on you. In keeping with the spirit of the pirates films, this fic was truly a transnational effort. Maska is a Brit who has a soft spot for Norrington and Beckett and PrincessBertha is an American who deals well with Maska's enthusiasm for the British characters whilst of course secretly liking them herself. As a result of our transnational effort, the spelling periodically alters depending on which of us happened to be typing at the time.**

**Anyhow, enjoy and feedback is appreciated. **

The relentless sun bore down as Lord Beckett added some lemon to his third cup of tea that morning.

"Lemon, Admiral?" asked Beckett.

"Why thank you, old chap," replied Norrington, holding out his teacup, made of bone china, which had been imported by the East India Trading Company years previously when they had in fact operated in the east. It had a pink floral pattern and was Norrington's favourite teacup. There was a pause as both men sipped their Earl Grey, staring out into the nothingness of Davy Jones' Locker. Norrington coughed politely, and said to Beckett,

"Lovely weather we're having, isn't it?"

"Hmmm, it is."

It was a regular tradition of Beckett and Norrington's daily routine in the locker. After this cup of tea, they would proceed to drink another and another in the manner that only the British knew. Generally they would drink 14 cups in succession, but never more than 15. One had to know one's limits with these things.

However, much to Norrington and Beckett's dismay, a smelly pirate, who Norrington vaguely recalled had been one of Jack Sparrow's crew, of course he didn't know for sure since filthy pirates all looked alike after all, ran past, rather rudely knocking Beckett's teacup out of his hand and sending it crashing onto the sand.

"Bad form!" Beckett cried leaping to his feet and cuffing the pirate around the head. "Jolly bad form! Don't you know that my plot went horrifically wrong when that Jones character broke Turner's teacup!"

Beckett, you see, did not like to be reminded of his untimely death. As far as he could reckon, everything had gone drastically down hill at what was known between himself and Norrington as 'The Teacup Incident.' The dreadful, filthy, unwashed pirates, who did not even have the decency to wear wigs like civilized men, considered breaking Beckett's teacups to be the rarest and purest of pleasures to be found in the Locker.

Meanwhile, Norrington had finished his Earl Grey and was looking around the barren landscape. He pulled a pocketwatch from his coat and looked at the time.

"Turner should be here soon," remarked the Admiral. Beckett rolled his eyes.

"Fantastic, I can't wait to see him again," he drawled, putting undue emphasis on certain syllables and giving the distinct impression that seeing captain of the Flying Dutchman was ranked lower than giving up the king's colonies on his list of things to do for a jolly nice afternoon.

Sure enough, the Flying Dutchman came into view shortly thereafter. All around the ship were tiny boats carrying one or two souls of men and women who had died at sea. They dispersed around the island, probably never to be seen by the two British gentlemen ever again. No matter how many souls Turner brought, the population of the Locker never seemed to increase. As the last few souls made their way up the white, sandy beaches, Beckett and Norrington could see Will running across the sand toward them, looking positively windswept and apparently holding his head at the most dashing angle he could.

"Tea, Turner?" Norrington asked, although one had the distinct impression he would rather throw the tea at Elizabeth's husband than hand it to him in one of Beckett's rather dainty prized teacups.

"Oh, thank you," said Will, accepting the tea gratefully and sitting himself in Norrington's chair. The admiral said nothing, on account of his stiff upper lip. Will, legs spread wide, as relaxed as could be, began his daily update, "I've just had the hardest day at sea to date! First of all, there seems to have been some tidal wave along the coast, judging by the number of souls I've had to shepherd, and there have been problems with the Dutchman, she's not young, you know—"

Beckett wondered at the use of "she" for the 'Dutch_man_' and said sarcastically, "oh, how terrible the afterlife must be for _you_, what with you still being sort of alive and getting to travel around, and not stuck on a _lovely_ little island with filthy pirates—"

"Oh! You find the island lovely? That's certainly good to hear!" remarked Will, who wouldn't know sarcasm if it walked up to him, insulted his mother, and challenged him to a duel. "When Jack was in the Locker, apparently he had hallucinations of himself and an amorous goat, but I am glad that sort of thing isn't happening to you."

Seeing an opening, Norrinton set down his teacup and said in the pleasant tone of voice reserved for the deepest of insults, "Yes, Davy Jones' Locker certainly provides its fair share of entertainment."

Will began twitching and chocking on his tea. "Excuse me, Admiral," he began, "I think we've been over this every day for the last nine and a half years. It is _not_ Davy Jones's Locker anymore! It is Will Turner's Locker! I am the captain of the Dutchman, I shepherd the souls of those who've died at sea to the afterlife, something Davy Jones rarely did _at all_ if I remember correctly, and I am young and handsome, so it is my Locker, not his!"

At which point Beckett coughed, ate a sugar cube, and said, "Well, that does rather explain why things have gone so downhill as of late. Mangy pirates walking around breaking teacups and the like."

Will rounded on him. "Oh no, you're not still on about the bloody teacups, are you?"

"Those were _prized _teacups that my grandmother gave me as a wedding present!"

Norrington blinked. "Were you ever married, Lord Beckett?"

"That is not the point!" said Beckett more loudly than he should have. Gathering himself, he continued, "although I don't have to tell you that Miss Elizabeth Swann was very interested in me," fondly remembering the time she had admired his maps while brandishing a pistol in his face. Those _were _the days. Beckett had always been popular with the ladies.

This comment received a glare from both Elizabeth's husband and her erstwhile suitor. After counting to ten, Will said proudly, "she married _me_, you know."

"Under what authority? A _pirate's_?" Beckett scoffed. Will shifted in his seat uncomfortably. The diminutive lord had touched a nerve.

"It was in the middle of battle," he said lamely.

"She probably only married you because she thought you were about to die, which, now that I think about it, you did," Norrington pointed out, clearly enjoying causing the young man to squirm.

"It was romantic!" argued Will, while helping himself to a biscuit. Beckett and Norrington gave him despairingly looks that seemed to imply that their favourite part of the story was the part where Will died.

There was a long silence and then Norrington spoke. "She kissed me once you know…"

Will slammed his teacup and saucer down on the table, earning a wince from Lord Beckett. "Would you two stop it already? She married _me_ and she loves _me_, and" he looked at Norrington, "she's done more than kiss _me_."

Beckett and Norrington exchanged glances. "Well, that was mature," said Beckett in an undertone. "Yes, let's all compare what bases we got to with Miss Swann why don't we?"

Norrington was smirking as Will's ears turned a brilliant shade of red. "It wasn't a bad kiss, either" he said slowly, dreamily. "Perhaps a little aggressive at times, but overall, I've had worse." He was staring up at the sky, speaking as slowly as possible in order to draw out Will's discomfort.

"Well, I had sex with her! And I am going to again, soon!" Will said, sounding about as mature as a ten-year-old schoolboy on a caffeine high. Beckett and Norrington both shuddered visibly at the thought.

"Turner, that was really more information than we needed," said Norrington. Beckett, who looked as though he were preparing to speak, seemed to reconsider and shut his mouth.

Author's Note: Thank you for reading our odd work. Reviews are always appreciated

Coming up next time: Will goes off to visit Elizabeth, and Beckett and Norrington have Governor Swann 'round for tea and the East India Trading Company is questions, much to Beckett's displeasure. Davy Jones drops by.


	2. Chapter 2

Several months later, Norrington and Beckett were having their daily tea. However this time they had decided to make a little party out of it. This was the first day in ten years that they would not be subjected to the presence of, as Beckett called him, 'the annoying pretty boy.' They had even invited Governor Swann to mark the occasion. Despite Elizabeth's belief that Beckett had caused her father's death, nothing could be further from the truth. In fact Beckett, in order to 'deal with Governor Swann' had suggested that they take a little boating trip together. The Governor, exited by the large fish in the water, had leaned out a little too far, and had toppled into the middle of a piranha school. He had not wished to distress his daughter with such gruesome details and so had created some far-fetched story involving his dear pal Beckett and the heart of Davy Jones. His daughter had believed every word of it, which he found strange, since he thought she had grown out of her gullible stage. Then again, she was not the brightest of girls and was generally off pouting or playing with her little pirate friends. In fact, things were so chummy between Beckett and the Governor, Swann had brought his special stash of tea which was given to him by some bizarre Singaporean pirate captain who had shaken his hand whilst jabbering something about his daughter and Goddess Calypso.

The three men were even now sipping the tea and spreading jam and cream over their scones. Norrington looked thoughtful.

"This tea, it's Chinese, is it not?" he asked the Governor, who nodded silently while chewing a mouthful of scone.

Norrington looked like he had something on his mind. He kept looking from the tea to Lord Beckett and back to his tea.

"Erm, Beckett," he began, "have you ever been to China?"

"No, no, but of course I did have to send men into Singapore to deal with anti-piratical matters. I couldn't go, hadn't had my typhoid jab."

Norrington was still sipping his tea thoughtfully. "But, you worked for the East India Trading Company," he said.

"Indeed, and?" asked Beckett, looking mildly confused.

"You just said you've never been to the East Indies. You were in the West Indies."

There was a long silence while the three men thought about this. Governor Swann looked up from his tea.

"Yes, really, that was rather odd. I remember thinking at the time, 'why isn't it called the West India Trading Company?' since you were, in fact, trading in the West Indies."

Beckett pursed his lips, "Gentlemen, that is why it is called a _monopoly_. Because there is only one."

"Really? I thought monopoly was a game, where you bought places in London—" began Governor Swann, before Beckett cut him off.

"Yes, but you were also the person who thought leaning out of the boat to peer at piranha was a jolly good idea."

"Still, it seems like you could have worked something into your name about the West Indies," Norrington continued.

"Something like 'The East India Trading Company That Actually Operates Heavily in the West Indies,' that sort of thing?" suggested Swann.

"Well that would hardly fit on my stylish, company buttons, now would it?" argued Beckett, annoyed that the Right Honourable King's company was being questioned.

"How about the 'West-East India Trading Company'?" said Norrington. "No, wait, the 'WEast India Trading Comanpy'?"

Beckett swallowed a bite of scone and said, rather scathingly, "well, that hardly has the same ring to it, does it?"

Meanwhile, not in Davy Jones' Locker, Will was sailing home. He had not been this excited in, well, ten years really. He couldn't wait to see his lovely bride! A thought flickered into his mind, and this was a rare occurrence so it was worthy of note. Elizabeth would be ten years older than when he last saw her, he realized. Oh well, she would surely be as lovely as she had been the first time he beheld her, as a young girl. There was no one around to tell Will that sounded a bit creepy and was likely to get him on some sort of government watch-list.

Will shrugged. He had first seen then-lieutenant (pronounced left-tenant) Norrington on the same day as he had his darling Elizabeth, and Norrington had hardly aged _at all_ in the following years. Perhaps Elizabeth would be as young and fresh as on the day of their wedding? Actually, fresh was a word he had picked up from Lord Beckett. He assumed it meant pretty.

As Will sailed closer and closer to shore, hanging from the rigging rather dramatically, trying to achieve maximum windsweptosity, he thought he could see her figure on the cliff above him. She was a bit hard to make out, being rather skinny and wearing a neutral-tone dress. Next to her, Will thought he saw a small boy, and immediately wondered what the boy was doing on the cliff, waving at him, and holding a large sign that said, "WELCOME DADDY!"

Back in the Locker, Will Turner's or otherwise, the gentlemen were still at their tea party. "More tea?" asked the Governor, holding out the teapot and smiling, looking like a dotty old man. "Apparently this tea has traces of opium in it, very popular with the Chinamen, you know."

"I say, good show," said Beckett, holding out his teacup, thankful for the change of subject. Swann was just about to place the teacup spout into Beckett's teacup when Norrington, who had been gazing pensively at the horizon suddenly shouted:

"Jones alert! Jones alert!"

Norrington's cry caused Beckett to withdraw his teacup suddenly and look around wildly much to Governor Swann's surprise.

"I say! What on earth-"

"Save the china!" Beckett cried as Davy Jones' form grew larger on the horizon.

Beckett seized the teapot from Swann's shaking hands and, although it pained him to do so, tipped the contents of the pot onto the sand and placed it carefully in the chest that Norrington had been packing the teacups hastily into.

"Hurry!" squealed Beckett as Davy Jones' footsteps grew louder—as much as that sort of thing can happen when one is striding across sand—with every step closer.

"Should I know this Jones character?" Governor Swann asked curiously, his hand still raised as if he were still holding the teapot.

"Davy Jones! Teacup breaker of doom!" Norrington said, his head held high as if to show bravery in the face of a terrifying foe.

Since the East India Trading Company no longer had possession of the heart of Davy Jones, not that it would do them much good anyway, there was nothing to bargain with in regards to the preservation of the rare and dainty creature, the tea cup.

"We-e-el," said Davy Jones, nearing their table, "what do we have here? A British teaparty? And I wasn't invited?" one couldn't really tell whether or not he was trying to intimidate them or whether he was genuinely put out at not having been invited. Again.

"Tea? Tea? I don't see any tea!" said Norrington, looking around at the sky and the empty table.

Davy Jones merely looked down at the wet spot of tea that was sinking into the sand. He coughed.

"Listen, if you want to get all touchy about it, that's fine," said Beckett, "but the last time I invited you 'round for tea, you broke Turner's teacup!"

"He provoked me! And anyway, that was over ten years ago! Surely I deserve a second chance." Davy Jones looked imploringly at the gathered gentlemen.

"Fine, whatever, come tomorrow," said Beckett exasperatedly. "So I heard your girlfriend was shacked up with some Greek for seven years." Beckett, who could never resist a tawdry tale, had been waiting to mention that to Davy Jones for years.

The colour drained from Jones's face—now that he was not a squid on legs, he had colour—and he shot Beckett a look that would shatter teacups. "That was a long time ago. She said he meant nothing to her!"

"Isn't that because the gods forced her into letting that Odysseus chap go?" asked Norrington. "It seems to me that you were the, oh, how do we say, _rebound_."

"Go to hell," said Davy Jones. All four men looked around at the endless white sand. No one said anything for a full minute.

"Do you reckon it was Odysseus who gave Calypso crabs?" asked Beckett, chewing the inside of his lip, recalling how Calypso had become fifty feet tall and then fell apart into thousands of crab bodies. "Personally I say you're better off without her. Never trust a woman with crabs, that's what my dad told me."

There was yet another awkward pause as everyone avoided making eye contact with Lord Beckett. Norrington was getting the distinct impression that the man had an, shall we say, unhealthy obsession with things of a sexual nature.

Far away, Will was staring stupidly at Elizabeth.

"What do you mean I have a son?"

"Will, for the thirty-seventh time, you impregnated me ten years ago, it was a boy, here he is, William Algernon Fitzgerald Rupert Charles Turner III, Esquire." Elizabeth was getting tired. Saying her son's name really took a lot out of her. The boy, meanwhile, was clinging to Will, yelling, "DADDY!" over and over again in an excited voice, not unlike that of Beckett when presented with a brand new tea set or a large gem "given" to the British as tribute by the colonized peoples.

Will blinked a few times, looked down at the boy, then back up at Elizabeth, and began to smile. "I have a son!" He yelled, in a voice remarkably similar to that of his son's—surprising, since one was pre-puberty and one was post-puberty. Almost instantaneously, a shadow seemed to cross Will's face. Not a real shadow, obviously, but a metaphorical one.

"I am a bad father!" He fell on his knees and looked into his son's eyes. "Will, when I was a boy, I thought my father dead. Now, of course, he is a member of my crew, but that's hardly the point. As a young man, I was without male guidance. I swore that I would never do that to my own son, and now, I have abandoned you! Oh, my boy, forgive me!" With that, he clutched his young son to him in a vice-like grip that caused the boy to cough and gasp for air.

"Will," said Elizabeth, "your son is turning purple." He released the boy immediately and regarded him in a new light.

"Let me give you some advice, which my father never gave to me," began Will, "Girls like windswept hair. If you want to find a nice, fresh girl—"

"WILLIAM!" screamed Elizabeth, and both Wills looked around startled. "Will, don't you have some chores to do?" she asked in an authoritative voice. The father and son regarded each other, trying to figure out whom she meant. Finally, the boy sighed in annoyance and went to go clean his room.

Will grinned and walked over to his wife, pulling her into an embrace. He pushed her hair away from her face and leaned down to whisper in her ear seductively. Unfortunately, he was greeted by her glaring up at him.

"Don't think you're getting out of chores this easily! Listen, mister, for ten years I've carried and raised your child and you come swanning in here expecting everything to be peachy. Well Mr. Turner, you've got another thing coming, I tell you that."

Will gaped at her. "But Elizabeth, baby, I thought maybe we could—"

"WELL YOU THOUGHT WRONG!" she screamed at him. "Ten years, Will, ten bloody years, and I don't even have a wedding ring! No ring, and the neighbours don't believe me when I tell them I'm married. I know what they say about me, behind my back, and about your son as well. If you think any respectable girl is going to marry him, when his legitimacy is in question," here she trailed off, seemed to re-gather energy, and started again, "And the roof needs rethatching!"

"I will rethatch the roof, then, love, and then maybe we can, you know… because Lord Beckett was giving me helpful advice and then Admiral Norrington said—"

"Oooooh, how is James?" said Elizabeth, her temper suddenly forgotten.

"Um, he's fine, I think. Drinks a lot of tea. So do you want me to rethatch the roof?"

"Weren't you listening to a single thing I said? You're coming with me to the neighbourhood dance so that I can finally show those gossipy old crones from down the lane that I am, in fact, married! Now, what other clothes do you have?" she asked, surveying his tattered, yet ruggedly windswept, shirt.

In the Locker, meanwhile, Davy Jones was getting very, very tired of Lord Beckett. First, the man had said those horrible things about Calypso, and now he was…

"It's a shame we didn't get a chance to eat the creature. I imagine it would have gone well with some pepper. Cook it up like calamari, you know," Beckett had said, swirling his tea and almost licking his lips.

"I don't know if Kracken meat is even edible, actually," had been the Governor's reply, but the man was spending too much time thinking it over for Jones's taste. "I hear the Kracken had rather bad breath, and that's not something I look for in food."

"Well, you have bad breath and the piranha still ate you," said Beckett under his breath.

Norrington was glancing at his pocket watch. "Not too much longer and Will should be returning to us," he said dryly, clearly not amused by the thought.

Governor Swann gave a start. "What? That Turner boy? Oh, I hadn't even noticed him missing. Where is he then?"

"Off with your daughter, filling her teacup—" began Beckett, before Norrington interrupted.

"Yes, thank you Cutler, that's quite enough" he said loudly, whilst Swann looked from the Lord to the Admiral.

"Oh, that's lovely, that he's taking her out for tea!" said the Governor.

William Algernon Fitzgerald Rupert Charles Turner II was not enjoying the dance. Elizabeth had dragged him around to talk to countless toothless old women, and he was sure he'd heard one of them mutter "clearly a male prostitute" to her friend as he and Elizabeth made their way to the next group of women. All he wanted to do was go back to Elizabeth's cottage and play sports with his son, or other manly activities, and have "special alone time" with his lovely wife, who, incidentally, had not aged at all. Anyway, if he didn't get some Elizabeth-lovin' soon, he wouldn't have anything to tell the boys back in the Locker, particularly Beckett, who seemed to really like hearing about that sort of thing.

**Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who reviewed chapter one! Reviews are of course appreciated for this chapter as well. **

**Coming up in the next action packed chapter: Will returns to the Locker with news of his son, but the boys can't really take him seriously. **


	3. Chapter 3

It was yet another sunny day in the Locker when Will returned from his 'One Day With Elizabeth'. He had dark circles under his eyes, which Beckett was sure to misinterpret, and straw from thatching under his nails. However this was all irrelevant considering his exiting news that he was certain all the boys would be exited by. How could they not be overjoyed by the prospect of a minitARRR Will?

As Will ran up the beach, he spotted Norrington and Beckett sitting in their normal spots around the table, drinking tea. (Not that Will understood the concept of 'normal spots', given that he was always stealing Norrington's). However, much to Will's surprise, not only was Governor Swann also at the table, but so was Davy Jones. Will could not remember a single time in ten years that Jones had been invited for tea. Nearing the table, Will realized that Davy Jones was not actually sitting at the table. Rather, he seemed to be seated behind a line, a few feet away from the men. Later, Will would see that the line had "Jones-safe zone. No Jones allowed beyond this point" written on it. Jones was also drinking from what appeared to be a child's plastic teacup with a teddy bear motif embossed on the side. All around Jones' chair were foam and other soft substances, as if to cushion the blow of any objects dropped. Nevertheless, Jones looked immensely pleased and was sipping his tea happily.

"I have a son!" Will yelled as soon as he was within earshot of the men. This was greeted not by shouts of encouragement as Will had hoped, but rather by a silence.

"Did you hear something?" Norrington asked those assembled, as Will continued to shout "SON!" in the background.

"It sounds like young Will has a son," said Swann, who didn't understand that they were purposefully ignoring him.

"No, James, I didn't hear anything," Beckett replied, understanding what Norrington was about. "Perhaps there is a rather large bird strangling on a pirate?"

It was then that Will arrived at their table, out of breath and looking even more dashing than usual.

"SON SON SON SON SON! Me!" he nearily shouted.

Governor Swann was blinking up at him. "Oh, that's jolly good news, my boy! Who is the mother?"

Will looked puzzled. "Your daughter, Elizabeth…" he trailed off.

"YOU IMPREGNATED MY DAUGHTER!" Swann stood up and began trying to strangle him.

"But….but…. we're married!" choked Will.

The Governor stopped immediately and said composedly, "Oh, that's alright then. I have a son-on-law! And a grandson!" The two men began to do a ridiculous dance around the table. They did not notice the eye-rolling-fest that Norrington and Beckett were engaged in.

When Will and Swann finished celebrating, Will seated himself in the Governor's chair. Norrington, who had been gripping the arms of his chair tightly, looked relieved. Swann took the empty place.

"Erm, I hate to be a bother, but can I have a biscuit?" asked Davy Jones, from behind his line.

Will happily passed him a biscuit and asked, "So, how do you find life in Will Turner's Locker?"

"If by that you mean Davy Jones' Locker, then it's just _peachy_."

"No, I meant Will Turner's Locker."

"Davy Jones' Locker!"

"Will Turner's Locker!"

At this last provocation, Jones leapt to his feet and reached out for Will. Beckett coughed menacingly, and Jones shuffled back behind his line.

"Jones, I told you, if you want to have tea, you must stay behind your line." Beckett drawled, without turning around to look at Jones.

"Erm, yes, of course. Won't happen again." Jones continued to shoot death-glares at Will.

Norrington put down his teacup and regarded Will. "So, this boy of yours, does he have sort of ice-cream cone shaped hair?"

Will looked puzzled. "The only person I know with hair that looks like an ice-cream cone is you, Admiral,"

"Yes, that's really the point, isn't it?" Norrington said flatly. "Does he have it or not?"

Beckett at this point cut in, "Your son, is he rather short?"

"No, he's the usual size of a nine year old," Will was getting rather confused.

"Hm, so was I, at that age. I just stopped a bit before puberty. I imagine this boy of Elizabeth's will do the same."

"But, why would he do that? I had my growth-spurt pretty late," said Will, looking from Beckett to Norrington. The look of confusion on Will's face made him more handsome than ever.

It was Norrington who spoke next, "Does he look at all Chinese? Pointy beard, that sort of thing?"

"Er, he's only nine—" Will started, but Beckett cut him off.

"Dreadlocks, I imagine. The boy has dreadlocks?"

Norrington looked up from his tea. "I say, Cutler, there's a thought!" He turned to Will, "Yes, and I imagine he wears loads of black eyeliner and acts as though he's drunk? That's really the most likely scenario, more so than ice-cream cone hair or shortness."

Will looked as though he were thinking very hard. "Well, he was very loving, he hugged my leg…"

Norrington nodded, "Yes, drunk people _are_ generally very loving—"

"But you'd have to ask your wife about that," cut in Beckett. Norrington glared at him. "Maybe drunkenness is genetic, do you reckon?" he went on.

Will's eyebrows were still furrowed, "but, I'm never drunk…"

"Yes, Will, that's sort of the point," Norrington said, while Beckett smirked.

"It sounds like you two are describing Jack, not my son," said Will slowly.

"Why, yes, we are, aren't we?" Beckett answered, helping himself to more tea.

"But why would my son be anything like Jack? Oh! I know!" Will looked as though he'd just figured something out, "Elizabeth must get very lonely in that cottage, so it's only natural that Jack must come and visit her, which is why you boys think my son could have picked up his mannerisms! That all makes sense now!" he seemed proud of himself for working it out all on his own.

"Yes, I am sure Sparrow goes and "visits" your wife quite regularly. I'd really like to go and "visit" your wife—" started Beckett, but Norrington kicked him under the table.

"So how is my daughter then? Still pouting?"

"You know it's strange Governor Swann. Elizabeth hasn't aged a day since I last saw her."

Norrington coughed suspiciously, but no one noticed.

"That's silly," Jones said, from behind his line, "the only way a person could stop aging would be to find the Fountain of Youth, or, you know, have one's heart removed."

Again, Norrington coughed but said, "Maybe she's using some of those new lotions that are supposed to keep ladies looking young—"

"And fresh?" said both Beckett and Will. Beckett then gave Will a sort of surprised look. Clearly he had underestimated the man.

"Wait a minute, James, didn't you once look for the Fountain of Youth as a young man?" asked Governor Swann innocently.

"I…" Norrington stuttered, "I don't indulge in such superstitions. But under his breath he said quietly, "if Elizabeth has found it too, she must have followed my directions, or else that blasted Sparrow fellow, hmm…" he trailed off.

Beckett, meanwhile, was rearranging his clothing and looking intently at Will. "So, boy, we never really got around to the most important questions. How was your time on land?"

Will thought back to the hours spent thatching, cleaning, and being poked by old women. "Fantastic," he lied.

"And how was your lovely bride?" asked Beckett, with a tone that Norrington did not like.

"She was…. Fantastic" said Will, who had a very small vocabulary.

"And did you…?" Beckett asked suggestively, raising an eyebrow.

"Did he what?" asked the Governor, watching some pirates wander by in the distance.

"Yes, yes, we did, loads and loads of times," said Will, who was getting pretty good (in his own opinion) at lying.

Beckett seemed to want to know more. "Was it nice?"

Will paused and looked at him. "Yes, it was….fantastic" he said mechanically.

"And did she have some of those little red garments?" continued Beckett.

"I think this conversation has gone far enough!" interrupted the Admiral, looking annoyed. "Honestly, I have come to expect this sort of behaviour from you, Lord Beckett, but Will," he said, turning on the young man, "I am surprised at you. Elizabeth deserves better than to be gossiped about like a second rate lady of the night!"

"Hear, hear!" chorused Swann. "There are just some things a father does not need to hear about."

Will was looking at his tea. He had known Beckett would ask these sorts of questions, and frankly, he was not happy with how his visit home had turned out. Davy Jones caught his eye.

"It's never worth the wait, is it, boy?" asked Jones. "At least your lady was there waiting for you—"

"And not off shagging a Greek." finished Beckett.

Norrington thought it would be a good idea to change the subject. "So, Will, how is it being married to the Pirate King?" In the background, one could almost make out the sound of pirates singing "she is, hurrah for the Pirate King!" faintly.

Governor Swann, meanwhile had chocked on his tea. "I thought you were married to my daughter? What's this about a king? Is that even legal?"

"Sir, Elizabeth is the Pirate King," Norrington told him.

"Oh, didn't I tell you all?" said Will, with a mouth full of biscuit, "she resigned so she could spend more time with our son. She passed the title along to that Cheval chap."

"Who?" chorused the other four.

"Cheval. You know, the French pirate. Apparently he and Elizabeth get along really, really well. She said if not for him, she would never have been able to manage everything at the cottage."

"So I am going to take a wild guess and say your son speaks French and has a pale complexion?" was Beckett's reply.

"Now that you mention it, yes."

"And he only drinks Perrier?" asked Norrington.

"How did you know?"

Beckett and Norrington exchanged significant glances over their teacups. "That settles it then," said the Admiral.

"Tea, Mr. Turner?" said Beckett with a smirk.

**Authors' Note: **Thank you to everyone who has read our little work of humo(u)r, and especially to those who have taken the time to review. We have certainly enjoyed exploring what our favo(u)rite dead Brits would do to occupy themselves in "Lockerland!"


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